Inside Westminster: Tales of Hubris and Betrayal No 13
by mrsordinary54
Summary: 'Fiddle Fuddle' is a parody of the shenanigans of the British political 'elite'.


INSIDE WESTMINSTER: TALES OF HUBRIS AND BETRAYAL

13

FIDDLE FUDDLE

Ptolomy Trudge-Jones was getting a little frustrated at not seeing Mandy. Where had she been for the past few days? His voicemail and text messages had gone unanswered and he hadn't had any contact with her since she'd gone down to placate her ma and pa.

Surely her parents hadn't kidnapped her; this was London and not some far-flung place where 'honour killings' were still accepted by society. He couldn't work it out: all he knew was that he was missing her – desperately.

Things were also hotting up with Brexit shenanigans and Potty didn't want to miss his moment. Roger Rogers seemed to be keeping a low profile, but Willoughby Knight-Johnston was beginning to appear as a credible front-runner to take over the reins of power. The Party loved him: right parentage, school, wife and he had hoards of well-turned out sprogs to reassure the great British public that he was a 'safe pair of hands'.

Potty's family had none of these prerequisites and he was actually beginning to wish that they would just stay out of the papers for once. He wanted to give the impression that he was not simply a clown like his father who had taken part in various low-grade 'celebrity' programmes or, indeed, his sister who was disappointingly producing some rather vacuous articles for the Press.

'Who reads the stuff?' he couldn't help asking himself. Someone with far too much time on their hands, obviously.

And now his younger brother, Tarquin, hit the headlines by penning an article about how Kent was going to turn into a lorry park. As if! Potty simply couldn't be so negative about brexiting Europe and was sure that other countries would follow hot on this great nation's heels: Italy had suffered the ignomy of having their budget thrown back at them by those wretched EU bureaucrats and Poland was in turmoil over the imposition of 'one-size fits all' laws.

'No,' Potty thought, 'better to get out now while the going's good.'

Mutti was also being forced out and he didn't think much of that tactile French president's future either. London was turning into a cauldron of knife crime but Paris police were so stressed they were committing suicide.

'What was the world becoming?' Potty thought.

He, of course had no answers whatsoever but that had never stopped his ability to delude both the general public and himself.

No, what this great nation needed was Potty at the helm, steering the ship of nation in a masculine and determined way, telling the Europhiles to 'get stuffed'.

Sophia, on the other hand, had no self-delusions. She knew she'd always have competition from prettier women but had been pragmatic in her approach to her relationship with Potty: she was mother to their children and like most 'orientals', Potty did actually love them. So she'd underestimated how vulnerable she'd become now that the off-spring were no longer children.

Perhaps that's why he'd strayed so irretrievably this time. And so much for 'sisterly empathy'! No this Mandy Swinton-Eagle was a true horror: no children of her own; no 'career' to fret over; a family who'd forgive her rather than cast her out and far more to gain than lose in this 'so-called' free and equal society.

But how to get her revenge?

Sophia had already played a little mischievous game by dropping into conversation over canapés at the opening of her sister's art gallery that Potty and his latest squeeze had something very special to look forward to. Some of the 'great and good' had been invited, Crispin Dunk among them. He was a celebrity columnist for various gossip magazines and couldn't believe his luck at this juicy morsel of (mis)information.

So her mission to well and truly screw the pair of them had started with a successful volley. If she'd known about the ferocious bollocking Mandy had got from her parents about said article, Sophia would have been doubly pleased.

She'd read about the revenge of Pandora Quick, member of the Braunston Hunt, who'd drenched the London pad of Lord Asher of Bakewell - her latest boyfriend, never mind that both were married - with several large buckets of pigs' blood, daubing 'traitor' on the front door for good measure. This, and she'd only been his mistress for a few weeks: Sophia had been the wife of wretched Ptolomy Trudge-Jones for over 20 years! But what a ballsy act of revenge. Sophia was furious at Potty's betrayal but didn't think she had it in her to commit such an act.

But time would tell…

Sophia-story in papers that M pregnant

New mature 'poster boy'

Mutti to get the chop

Italy on verge

Tusk try to be re-elected pres of Poland

Arlene


End file.
